The Shmoopy Side of Life
by Jesse Cullen
Summary: Teen!chester oneshots featuring moments of such fuzz and fluff that it'll make kittens look like cacti...or so I hope. Ratings very between stories and will not exceed T rating. No Wincest, but lots of cuteness.
1. Coffee

**This will be a collection of oneshots featuring the teen!chesters. Each will be inspired by a single event and will vary in length, rating and structure. Expect fluff. **

**Chapter 1: Coffee**

**Ages: Sam (13) Dean (17)**

**POV: Dean**

**Rating: T (for language and mild sexual references)**

**Inspiration: French Vanilla Coffee**

Dad's been gone for a couple of days now. He's been doing that a lot now, leaving for days on end and not telling me and Sam where the hell he's going. It pisses both of us off, although I try to make sure that Sam doesn't see how much it bothers me. But he knows. In that God damn way of his, he just knows. Even at thirteen he's a lot more observant than Dad and I give him credit for.

We're stuck in this shit motel in the middle of Wisconsin and its fucking snowing like there's no tomorrow. Guess they've never heard of late autumn here before 'cause it's only the beginning of

November and it shouldn't be this fucking cold.

The morning is the worst cause the people who run this motel don't seem to believe in heat registers. But that's what you get when you pay dick for a place to stay for a few days. I guess it also doesn't help that I don't wear a lot to bed. It's a habit born from waking up in nothing after a night of fun with the lucky ladies that I pick up at the bars I sneak into.

Sam's still asleep when I get up, but that's to be expected when it's too dark outside for seven in the morning. Sam's too damn stubborn to get up in any case. On any other given day I'd probably yell in his ear or punch him in the arm to wake him up. But he looks too damn peaceful when I look across the room barely big enough to hold the two of us. He's all curled up into a ball with the covers all over the place, too small and skinny for thirteen.

I can't help but smile sadly at him while he sleeps, breathing evenly. It's really not fair to him that we live like this, but I'll be damned if I'm going to get into that with Dad again. It's bad enough that they get into it enough as it is. Despite his size, Sam's got some pretty big cojones when it comes to telling Dad how he feels about all the shit going on. Maybe that's why Dad leaves so much. And Sam's too damn stubborn to tell me what's going on anymore.

Even though we're both too old for it, I miss when Sam would crawl into bed with me and sleep cause of a nightmare or something Dad said to him. He needs it more now, I think. More now because he's growing up and he's probably got a shit load of questions but is too damn scared to ask me or Dad. It bothers me...no it fucking _stings_ when I think of Sam being scared of me. I know we jerk each other around a lot, and I guess I can be a bit of a dick to him sometimes, but he's my baby brother and all I wanna do is be there for him, especially since Dad's treating him like some kind of leper half the time.

Sam stirs but doesn't wake up just yet. He's too happy wherever he is right now, far from a bunch of school kids bullying him and even farther away from a father who blames him for something he didn't do.

I close my eyes when I think of that night that Dad, too drunk for his own good, told me it was Sam's fault for Mom being gone. God damn it I wanted to beat him into a pulp for saying that. I've tried real hard to tell myself that it was just the beer talking. But booze has a way of making people say things they're really feeling. I would know. I've tried hard to deny that Dad said that, but I know there's no use. There's also no use in trying to tell myself that Sam wasn't standing in the dark doorway in his jammies while Dad slurred on completely ignorant to his presence. I heard him crying that night and I was so damn close to just springing out of bed and cradling him like a baby and telling him that Dad was a jackass and Sam did nothing wrong.

Well, that much is obvious. Sam was just a baby when Mom died. Dad needs to understand that. But there are times when I look at him looking at Sam and the way he stares at him, so hard and accusing just pisses me off.

I shiver. It's damn cold in here and I'm only wearing a loose pair of old sweats. My eyes are still puffy from waking up too early and I could really go for some coffee.

I grin, thinking about a nice cup of java in this cold. There's a convenience store a couple blocks from the motel. Still grinning like a Cheshire Cat, I kneel down and gently shake Sam by his narrow shoulder. Jesus he needs to be fed more.

He groans fitfully and tries to roll over and turn away from the waking world where too much crap waits for him. I'm tempted to just leave him and go by myself, but if Dad comes back in the few minutes that I'm gone and finds Sam here alone then we're both gonna get it. Sam more so than me even though it's not his fault again. And that's why I want him to come, so he can get out of this shit motel that smells like old socks and stale beer and out into some air and forget about Dad for a few precious moments.

"C'mon sunshine," I say, prodding him in the arm, "we're going out."

"S'too cold." Sam mumbles.

"Yeah, well we're gonna fix that."

Sam doesn't move for a few seconds and I think he might have gone back to sleep just to piss me off. But then he stretches like a cat and sits up, his hair standing up on all ends and his eyes puffy. He looks around, almost confused and then kicks off his covers, pulling the old t-shirt he uses for a pajama top down over his stomach and running a hand through his untidy hair.

I can't help but grin even wider.

"What?" Sam asks, still looking pissed that he had to wake up.

"Nothing." I reply. Then, just because I know he'll bitch about it, I ruffle his already messy hair and say, "It just looks like someone jizzed in your hair, Sasquatch."

Sam pushes my hand away, frowning like a thunderstorm. It just makes me grin even more. He can be such a bitch sometimes and I can't resist pushing his buttons.

"Better not have been you." Sam mutters.

"The hell are you talking about?" Damn he's getting good at these come backs.

Sam snickers. "Kinda hard not to hear when we're sharing this sardine can, Dean. Maybe you should try the bathroom like a normal person."

I give him a cuff on the arm for this. Not too hard. He hasn't really pissed me off. I'm actually happy that he's in a mood like this after all the shit he's gone through. It doesn't really bug me that he's heard either. We breathe the same air twenty four – seven so it's expected that not everything is going to be private.

"Why'd you wake me up so damn early?"

"Watch your mouth." I say in my best imitation of Dad.

He just rolls his eyes and hops off his bed. His teeth chatter the second his feet touch the floor only reminding me of how cold I actually am.

"Get dressed. We're going to the store."

There's nothing from him but the sound of his bag unzipping. We both dig through our clothes until we can find the warmest things we have and throw them on. I see Sam stop and cock his head to the side when he pulls out a big red sweater that used to be mine. He knows it was mine and that I snuck it in there for him but there's not a chance in hell I'm letting him give it back.

He doesn't say anything as he pulls it over his t-shirt but I see the small smile of gratitude while he looks for socks in the mess of his bag. Its little things like this that make me feel like I'm doing something right. I know he's not a baby but there are so many times when I can't help but look out for him. And I know, no matter how badly he gripes that he's thankful.

"Where're we going?" He asks after we're both dressed and sitting in the crappy little kitchenette that badly needs a new layer of linoleum. One look out the window tells me it's still snowing like a bitch. Not exactly a blizzard but still enough to make the whole damn outside look like a snow globe.

"Seven-Eleven." I tell him, pulling my boots on.

"S'too cold."

"Don't be a bitch, Sammy."

"Watch your mouth." Sam can't keep the triumphant grin off of his face when he throws my words back at me.

"I can say whatever the hell I want. I'm a grown up."

"Are not."

"Real mature, Samwich." I know he hates that nickname. He glares daggers at me and crosses his arms over his chest with a big pout on his face that almost looks too damn funny to be serious. "Like I said," I say, shaking my head at his expression, "real mature."

He huffs out a big sigh and then gets to his feet.

"You sure Dad's gonna let us outside?" His voice is so sour that I'm surprised the room doesn't smell like lemon.

"Dad's not here, Sam." I remind him.

"Right." He's still not happy. The sooner we get out of here the better.

"C'mon." I say, jerking my head to the door. "We'll need snowshoes by the time you're done moping." It's not supposed to sound nasty or like I'm accusing him of something. But I guess he takes it that way because he bows his head, his bangs falling into his eyes and mumbles, "I'm sorry."

"Hey." I cross the kitchen a two strides and kneel down in front of him. "I didn't mean it like that Sammy. I just want to get over there before the snow comes down harder, kay?"

Sam nods but doesn't look cheered.

Fuck. Real brilliant. I know he doesn't like to make a big fuss out of Dad when it's just the two of us together. I'm mentally kicking myself for making that jab about moping. Without a word, Sam gets to his feet and puts a scarf around his neck before standing patiently by the door. I watch him from the kitchenette for a second before we finally head out

It's even colder outside and the snow is up to our ankles. I'm really gonna kill Dad for leaving us here. Sam still isn't looking at me and I feel like a real schmuck. It's not his fault Dad's acting like total asshole all the time. Sam just wants - what's the word - normalcy. He tries so hard not to complain but I'd rather he let it out than bottle it up. Guess that's why I like it better when it's just us.

The Seven-Eleven is only a couple blocks from the motel but it's a shitty journey there. People around here don't seem to get the idea of shoveling the sidewalk. And those decent enough to do so have never heard of salting for ice. When we're across the street from the store, Sam slips on a patch of the slick crap and just about falls on his ass.

I steady him with a hand to the small of his back and try to convey what I'm thinking without speaking cause I know he's still not gonna talk right now.

_It__s okay,_ I try to tell him with my eyes and a quick pat on his back as he steadies himself, _I've got you._ For a second he just looks up at me with those big eyes of his wide and surprised. He smiles softly and we walk across the street a little more cautiously, making sure to avoid anymore ice patches.

The store smells like meltwater and rubber boots. There's a bored looking cashier behind the till who barely glances at us when we walk in and stomp our boots on the mat. Sam takes off to the magazine rack right away but stops when he sees I'm not following.

"What're you doing?" He asks.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing."

"I thought you were gonna get a Penthouse or whatever the heck it is you like to read."

I just about laugh at that. My bro knows me too well. But I'm not here for me today. I'm here for both of us.

"Let's get something to take this damn chill out." I tell him, nodding to the coffee machines. Sam's eyes light up like its freaking Christmas and he follows me as I walk around the till and to the row of humming machines.

"Really?" He looks a little nervous but totally stoked.

"Really really little bro. What size?"

Sam bites his lip and then looks back at the lone cashier like he thinks the guy's going to bust us for smuggling booze or something.

"Dad says I can't drink coffee." Sam says in a small voice, looking down at his boots.

I roll my eyes impatiently. This whole "Dad Says" shit is really starting to bake my potatoes. Sam's acting like a refugee not like a kid. Then again Dad acts more like a drill sergeant than a father half the time. And thinking of that just makes me uneasy. I know Dad's not perfect. Hell after that night when he ranted about Sam I could care less if he never came home. But he's still our father, however fucked up he might be.

"Sam," I say in a low voice, putting my hand firmly on his shoulder, "Dad's not here, okay? And I'm not going to say jack shit about this. Send me the crap to hell for it, but I'm trying to do something nice for you to make you feel better while we're stuck at that shithole of a motel. So pick something, damn it, or I'll kick your ass." I smile when I make that little empty threat. I'm not really going to do anything but I want Sam to enjoy himself in some small way and if having his first coffee is the way I choose then he'll do it and be damn grateful.

For a second he looks at me, his eyes wide like they were at the street when I stopped him from falling on his tailbone. Then he smiles so bright and wide that I just about go blind. Before I can think two skinny arms are thrown around my middle in a tight hug and Sam's got his face buried in the arm of my jacket. I can't shake him off 'cause he needs this and I think I do too. I pat his back a few times and grin like an idiot into the top of his head. Stupid brat. He knows I can't resist a Sammy hug.

"C'mon Sasquatch," I murmur, "People are staring."

Sam laughs and lets go, looking up at him still with that big dopey smile. His face is a little pink but he doesn't care. The whole damn world could watch and he wouldn't care.

"There's nobody here." He says, ignoring the cashier who's still got his back to us. This store must get shop lifted a lot if they've got this guy in charge.

I ruffle Sammy's hair and he giggles in a way that makes me melt just a little. Not too much 'cause melting is for chicks. But it's enough to let me know it'll be okay between us.

"Chose your poison." I say after he picks a large cup. Its $2.99 and I've only got a five so I take a small, but I don't give a shit 'cause this is for Sammy. He bites his lower lip and then sets his cup under the French Vanilla dispenser. At any other time I'd give him some line about the girly flavor but not now. He's too damn happy. Besides, there's really nothing wrong with French Vanilla.

Sam keeps his hand on the button too long and some of the hot coffee overflows and splashes his finger. He draws his hand back with a hiss and sucks on his burnt knuckle, glowering at the machine but it's all good. When Sam's back is turned, I get a French Vanilla too.

The cashier looks half asleep when we get to the register. When I pull out my five, I see comprehension dawn on Sam's face and for a second I think he's gonna drag up me being all sacrificing big brother once we leave but he doesn't. He knows I wanted to do this. For him.

Once we're back in the snow and cold, the warmth coming from the coffee cups seems to spread through our bodies and the walk back isn't as bad. Sam doesn't drink until we're outside the motel when he stops and puts the lid to his lips. He closes his eyes, obviously digging the sweetness and when he finally lowers the cup he beams at me.

"It's yummy." He says.

I grin at him. Outside our motel room in this shitty little town, in this God forsaken weather, with a hot cup of coffee to warm me, I feel one of those moments that I'm starting to seriously believe only Sam and I can have. It's everything. Love. Understanding. Hope. Uncertainty. Happiness. But most of all, its comfort. Comfort in the fact that no matter what happens Sam's always going to be there needing a sweet cup of coffee once in a while. And I'll always be there to give it to him no matter what Dad says or thinks.

And you know what? That feeling makes me feel warmer than a hundred cups of coffee ever could.

**D'aww! Hope that warms you up. Even though it's summer. Let me know what you think. **


	2. Shopping

**Chapter 2: Shopping**

**Ages: Sam (15) Dean (19)**

**POV: Sam**

**Rating: K+**

**Inspiration: School Shopping**

**Author's Note: Thanks to krissystvs and fledglingfeathers for favoriting this and a big thank **

**you to judyann for the review. **

Sam knows it's going to happen about two days before it actually does. Dad took him took get registered at the end of the previous week, which was a whole hell of a surprise for him. First of all he didn't think they were going to stick around this town long enough for him to need to go to school. And secondly, he was really damn surprised that his father was actually going and not Dean. Then again, Dad needed to play up the whole marine-on-the-move-with-two-sons routine that Sam had practically memorized.

It's not that he doesn't think school's important. He appreciates it a lot more than Dad and Dean

do. Sam likes to learn as long as it's something he actually gives a crap about. That's why he knows a lot more about the things they hunt then both his father and brother gave him credit for. He loves the lore behind the monsters and rituals. It's the hunting he hates. While not a refuge by any means, school is also Sam's ticket out of the world of demon hunting. If he keeps his grades up he can go any where and leave it all behind.

But until then he has to contend with hopping from school to school and having no friends to his name.

He also had to deal with school shopping. Usually Dad just gives him money and tells him to get what he needs at the five-and-dime. But this year is different because Dean's coming with him. Sam tries not to be annoyed because he's pleased to be spending time with his brother and if it gives them an afternoon to themselves then he's not complaining.

But Dean's got this shit eating grin on his face as they enter the store and pretty soon Sam knows all too well why.

Dean's got a list. A list written in Dad's handwriting. That just pisses Sam off. He's been shopping for school supplies alone since grade school and he's never gone wrong.

"Pencils." Dean says, looking at the first thing on the list.

Sam walks ahead of his brother, his hands tucked into the pockets of his faded grey hoodie. Dad's got to be up to something. There's no reason for Dean to be here other than to just piss Sam off. Or maybe Dad's afraid that the erasers are possessed by the Devil and will try and kill them both in a reign of Apocalyptic rubbery fire while they shop.

He grins at the thought as he stops next to the shelf where various kinds of pencils are lined along the walls. He reaches a hand out to take a plastic bag full of lead pencils when Dean shakes his head.

"Says HB on the list, Sam." Dean is frowning as though he doesn't agree with the list either.

"These are fifty cents." Sam says his hand still on the bag. "Why can't I just get them?"

Dean shifts uncomfortably.

"Dad...uh...he says lead pencils are too breakable. And if something attacks..."

Sam stares at Dean in disbelief. Dad wants him to buy HB pencils to use as weapons in case something attacks the school. Has the man become that paranoid? This town's in the middle of Wyoming. Nothing ever happens in Wyoming. But Sam knows it's no use to argue. Whatever Dad says is law. Besides, even if he did get the lead pencils, Dad would most likely search Sam's purchases and chew him out for not doing as he was told.

Trying hard to suppress his anger, he snatches a bag of regular pencils off the shelf and waits for Dean to tell him what to do next. Because that's all he ever does. Waits for someone to tell him what to do even if it's stupid.

"Sam..." Dean's tone is unsure; as though he's afraid Sam might blow up if he talks too harshly.

"Whatever." Sam says, not turning around. "I guess those pencils will have to do until Dad teaches me how to fashion a shiv out of a chicken bone."

Dean is silent but Sam doesn't want to turn around. He knows this isn't his brother's fault. And Sam really wants someone to be angry at right now and Dean's the only person nearby. He knows if he turns he's going to get into a fight with Dean and that's not right.

"What's next?" Sam asks, staring straight ahead at the narrow aisle where most of the basic school supplies are. He's thankful that they're shopping in a department store this time instead of a dollar store. He's tired of being the charity case kid in his classes and while nobody at his new school knows him yet, he knows that most teens judge on appearance and by what you have.

"Erasers." Dean says, his tone still guarded.

"Do they have to be special erasers?" Sam says before he can stop himself, "with salt in them? Or blessed by a dozen priests or something?" He chances a glance back at Dean as he heads down the aisle. He expected the flicker of annoyance on his brother's face. What he isn't prepared for is the moment when Dean bites his lip and looks down at the floor in something resembling pity.

Damn. Dean's not supposed to go all sympathetic on Sam. He's supposed to tell Sam that he's being stupid and that Dad is trying to look out for him. But Sam can sense that there's something different about his brother these days. Dad hasn't been the greatest father in the world and Dean's starting to see it and accept it.

_About damn time,_ Sam thinks all piss and vinegar now. Then again, he has been since puberty.

Thankfully the erasers don't need to have salt or be blessed by a dozen priests, although Sam suspects Dad is going to run them over with holy water when they get home.

He and Dean don't look at each other as they pick up a five subject notebook. Sam sees other last minute shoppers with their kids in tow frantically trying to get their hands on the school supplies. That's normal. Family's going school shopping with each other and worrying about grades. Sam wonders if he'll see some of the teenagers at school and if he'll get to know a few of them before they inevitably leave the state around October, which is becoming too common now that he's a teenager. Dad tried to convince him to drop out when he turned fourteen but that led to one of their worst arguments yet. Dean had had to take Sam for a long drive after that to calm him down.

As they picked out a cheap binder, Sam glanced at his older brother and felt slightly ashamed of the way he was acting. Dean didn't ask for his younger brother and father to constantly be at each other's throats. He never got into the arguments and Sam tried his hardest not to bring Dean into them because Dean's too important to him to use as a weapon. Dad doesn't seem to mind doing this from time to time, especially when he's losing.

Dad should know Dean hates being put on the spot. He gets all flustered and whenever he sides with one or the other it usually results in that person giving Dean the cold shoulder for a few days. Sam doesn't like it when he and Dean don't talk. He prefers it when Dean is trying to calm him down after whatever fight he and Dad have gotten into, because it shows that Dean cares. Sam knows he does, but still...he likes it when Dean shows that side of himself.

They pick out a cheap plastic covered binder with an AC/DC logo in the bottom corner. Sam doesn't love the band to death but gets it anyway because he knows it'll make Dean feel happy.

"Geometry Set?" Dean asks, puzzled. "You're taking math? Geez Sam you took two courses last year. Why the hell do you wanna do more?"

"'Cause it's fun." Sam says. Then, just to piss Dean off, he starts going through the first fifty digits of Pi. Dean plugs his ears and hurries on through the store trying to pretend like he doesn't know Sam, who follows him with a big grin.

Once again it's the cheapest one they can find. Sam tries not to let it show that it bothers him to have to get from the bottom of the barrel. At least he's going to school...for now. Besides, the less they spend the more he'll have for a new watch, which is something he asked Dad for after registering at the school. And while he didn't give an affirmative answer, he also didn't shoot the request down.

"I think that's it." Sam says, looking at the basket of supplies. This hasn't been a total disaster...yet. Then, trying hard to disguise any sign of hope, he says, "Dad said I could get a new watch so..."

Dean glances down the list and frowns.

"No watch." He says.

Sam feels disappointment sink in. Of course he's not getting a watch. Just because he wants one he's not going to get it.

"It just says knife." Dean adds.

Sam's snaps his head up from where it was resting on his chest.

"What?" He asks, dreading the answer.

Dean looks guarded again. "Knife, Sam. I think I remember Dad saying something about getting you a new knife 'cause you rusted yours pretty bad."

Sam rolls his eyes. "Yeah. Taking a knife to school. Is he trying to get me expelled?"

Dean frowns. "Sam, don't be a little bitch. It's not like you have to get a freakin' sword or something. Just get a Swiss army knife or something, okay?"

"So lemme get this straight," Sam says, trying to keep his voice even, "Its okay for me to get a knife that could potentially get me kicked out of school but it's not okay for me to get a five dollar wrist watch?"

Dean clearly doesn't want to argue. "Yeah, I guess so. Can we just get the knife and go?"

Sam turns on his heel and stops when they go passed a display of the watches he wanted. They really aren't anything special. Kinda bulky with plastic around the face and in different colors. And they're on sale. For five dollars each. The knife is probably going to cost them around ten.

"Do you think..?" Sam begins hopefully, but Dean shakes his head, once again looking sympathetic.

"We've only got ten left, Sammy." His voice is low, soft, almost soothing, the way he used to talk when Sam woke up from a bad dream. It almost works, but Sam is too damn angry right now to buy in on this.

"Fine." He turns and marches to the outdoor sports section of the store so fast that he momentarily loses Dean. By the time his brother catches up, Sam's already snatched a small Swiss army knife off the shelf. He throws it into the basket without a word. He makes to shove passed Dean, but his older brother catches him by the shoulder and looks at him with those beryl eyes of his and Sam can't fight anymore.

"Sammy," he says quietly and this time the voice works and all the fight goes out of Sam, "I'm sorry that it's gotta be like this, okay? But if you don't wanna get the knife for Dad then get it for me. That way I won't have to bust into school and save your ass if something decides to take out the student body."

"Like a psycho in a hockey mask?" Sam mutters. He's pretty sure Dean would still bust into the school if something happened even if Sam had the entire National Guard with him. Dean grins for a moment but becomes the serious big brother again.

"I know it sucks," he continues, "I really didn't give a crap about school when I was going. And I know it's important to you but please just do this and shut your mouth about it. I don't wanna have to deal with another fight." Dean suddenly looks pained and Sam starts to feel like a real bitch, not just for the way he's acting but because it's not fair to Dean that he has to live with the war between Sam and Dad.

Sam takes a deep breath, glances at his shoes and nods.

Dean grins half-heartedly and pats Sam on the shoulder. They're walking by the watch display again when he stops and turns back to Sam.

"Pay for this crap and meet me by the payphones." He thrusts the basket at Sam. "I need to use the bathroom."

Sam rolls his eyes, thinking Dean's probably just going to hit on one of the sales girls while Sam's away. The lady at the check out gives him a curious look as he puts his purchases through the till but says nothing. He almost hopes she'll refuse to let him buy the knife, but no such luck. After everything's paid for, Sam goes to stand by the payphones which are next to the entrance of the store. He waits impatiently for five minutes, moodily picking at the plastic bags.

"Finally." He says after Dean shows up. "That sales girl must've been hot."

Dean blinks in confusion and then grins.

"Oh...yeah. A real babe."

Sam frowns, bemused at the half-assed reply and then follows his brother out of the store and into the late summer afternoon. They don't talk on the way home. Sam's mind is still on the watches. He knows he shouldn't be so upset. They're fads. But if he shows up to this new school with at least something the other kids have, he'll feel a little better. Like he actually fits in. Then again if they're going to leave before the end of the semester, he shouldn't really care.

Dean gets the bags when they park the Impala outside the small trailer Dad's rented for the past month. Sam goes into the bathroom and washes his face with cold water to try and calm himself down. This is stupid. There's no reason to be acting so angsty. Damn hormones.

When he gets to the room he shares with Dean, he finds all the supplies on the bed. Dean's in the kitchen, probably attempting to cook dinner for them. Dad's most likely out doing research somewhere and probably won't be home til evening. Sam throws the knife onto the night side table and moves the supplies on top of his duffle bag.

That's when he sees it, under the notebook. The band is green and reminds Sam of his brother's eyes. The face is black with the brand name in small letters on the top. Sam knows Dean bought it while Sam was waiting by the payphones. Knows because only Dean would ever do something like this for him. Sam was being a bitch while they shopped and Dean still used his own hard earned cash to buy Sam a stupid plastic watch that's probably going to break in a few weeks anyway.

It doesn't matter though. Dean got this for him. Smiling, Sam puts it on his wrist and then goes into the small kitchen where Dean is carefully measuring out cups of water to cook Mac and Cheese like its nuclear fusion or something.

Dean turns when he hears Sam enter the room. For a second he looks a little surprised and then, seeing the watch on Sam's wrist, he grins somewhat sheepishly.

Before Dean can stop him, Sam hugs him, making him spill water everywhere. Sam doesn't care. It's not the fact that he got the watch that's making him hug his brother. It's the fact that Dean did this for him despite Sam being so damn difficult. Dean still cares.

"Thank you." Sam says, looking at the watch on the arm currently flung over Dean's shoulder and beaming like it's an Armani. Suddenly he really can't wait to go to school.

**Author's Note: I hope this doesn't seem too much like the last chapter. The watch Sam got is supposed to be something like a Baby-G...wow**** I think I may have showed my age there. Let me know what you think!**


	3. Park

**Chapter 3: Park**

**Ages: Sam (15) Dean (19)**

**POV: Dean**

**Rating: T**

**Inspiration: Amusement Parks**

**Author's Note: Thanks to judyann, sammygirl1963 and giacinta for the reviews. Thanks to **

**JoannieSpn for the fave. Enjoy.**

"If I die here -"

"Dude, we're more likely to die on a back road in Texas than here." Sam's eyes are already lit up at the rides in front of them. It's a pretty shitty day to be out here, cold for June with a fine misty drizzle of rain. But Dean promised to take Sam here for a belated birthday treat and once they're inside the grounds of the park, Dean knows it's too late too back out.

He's not terribly fond of thrill rides. He's pretty sure he's gotten motion sickness from the Tilt-O-Whirl once in his life, although the last time he was at anything resembling a theme park he was around six. And unfortunately for him, Sammy's eyeballing all the rides that Dean's pretty sure can give a person a heart attack if they're unprepared. How Sam can want to go on these things is beyond him.

"Whoa!" Sam says, staring at the closest ride to them. Dean hopes it's the merry-go-round or even bumper cars. But it's not. It's a big fucking pirate ship ride. And there's no line up because of the weather so Dean's not gonna have time to psyche himself up for it.

He hovers back, feeling chills but not due to the weather.

"Uh..." He says uncertainly. Sam turns, his hair dripping into his eyes and gives Dean an incredulous look.

"Are you seriously chickening out?" There's a hint of mockery under the disbelief in his little brother's voice.

"Let's just see if it goes upside down first..." Dean says, trying to act like a rational, totally not afraid older brother. Sam rolls his eyes and hangs back with Dean as they watch the ride begin. It doesn't go upside down to Dean's immense relief but he still thinks it looks nauseating. He barely has time to take a calming breath before Sam's tugging at his arm and leading him to the back of the short line of people, most of the Sam's age or younger.

The seats are damp and Dean bitches about them just to relax himself. Sam looks psyched and is staring forward from their seat in the second back row with anticipation.

"I wanna get off!" Dean says a second before the restraints are pulled over their laps. He looks at Sam, his eyes wide with fear, but Sammy just throws his head back and lets out whoop of laughter.

"Dean, you've battled werewolves and swamp creatures and you're pissing your pants over a theme park ride?" Sam can't help himself smiling. "This isn't even that scary."

"Says you." Dean mutters, facing forward and meeting the amused stare of a bratty little six year old sitting across from them.

"I've been on this lots." The kid says.

"Good for you." Dean mutters, looking away and pretending he didn't hear both Sam and the kid giggle at his expense.

The ride lurches into motion and Dean feels his stomach leave him before they've even gotten over a foot away from the ground. There's no time to catch his breath. Soon it's swinging back and forth in great waves. He can feel his heart going a mile a minute and in the brief moment when the ride hovers and he's staring straight down, he swallows the urge to scream, even if Sam's hollering like a maniac beside him, his arms in the air.

He's not about to let Sam see how much of a pussy he is on rides like this.

It's over in less than five minutes. Dean's hands have gone numb, whether from the cold or nerves is a mystery to him.

"You alright?" Sam asks as they leave the line.

"Peachy." Dean says with a grimace. "Just let me find my stomach for a second."

Sam rolls his eyes again and mutters, "Try looking for your balls while you're at it."

Dean punches him in the arm for that, which only makes Sam laugh even louder.

"Alright, Senor Dickless, we'll go on something you want too." Sam grins and points at a kiddie ride. "That might be a little too hardcore for you."

Dean punches him again for that.

"Ow! Okay, okay! Wanna hit the bumper cars?" Sam asks, rubbing his arm.

Dean jumps at the opportunity. He's the better driver, so he's gonna show Sam a thing or two about being an annoying little brat. His plans are foiled, though when they finally get to the bumper cars. Sam's not that bad a driver, but Dean's pretty sure he can take him until five little kids, two teenage girls and their boyfriends make it their mission to ram Dean's car as often as he can while Sam circles the carnage and gets a shot in wherever he can.

"That was not fair!" Dean whines when they get out.

"Cry me a river." Sam says, then, seeing the rain, shakes his head and adds, "or don't. You might cause a flood."

"I was sabotaged!" Dean insists, glaring daggers as one of the nine year olds who blind sided him sticks his tongue out as he passes. The impulse to throttle the little bastard is too damn tempting at the moment, but Dean's not about to get arrested for beating up a grade schooler.

Sam rolls his eyes. "C'mon Dean. They're little kids. It's not my fault that they enjoy seeing you in a fender bender."

Dean glares at the Sam. "I would've totally creamed you if it hadn't been for them." He says darkly. Sam narrows his eyes at him. It's on now. They're back in the small line up in a matter of seconds and this time there aren't any annoying kids around to ruin Dean's chance of sticking it to his bratty kid brother.

Sam's more aggressive than Dean though. Pretty soon the other riders are giving the two of them a wide berth as they duke it out in an all out bumper bar battle. Sam gives a feral yell when Dean successfully pins him against the wall of the ride and rams him repeatedly.

"Jerk!" Sam says when they get out of their cars.

"Bitch." Dean says, grinning in satisfaction. Sam may be calling the shots on rides, but at least Dean can still kick his ever loving ass when it comes to road wars.

The rain's coming down steadily now.

"Wanna go on the Ferris wheel?" Sam asks.

Dean gives a dramatic swoon. "Oh Sam! You're so romantci!"

"Fine!" Sam says moodily. "Just thought it'd be nice to sit and chill for a few minutes."

"Don't be like that, Samantha. If you wanna go on, I'll go with you."

Sam nods ruefully and then they're off to the big Ferris wheel in the middle of the park. It's pretty big for a Ferris wheel and the cars are designed so you can stand or sit. Dean feels a little more comfortable sitting. Dean's not about to tell Sam, but he hasn't been on a Ferris wheel before. Not as a kid and not with any of his more steady girlfriends.

He can tell there's something on Sam's mind the moment the ride starts, but he waits until they're stopped nearly at the top and looking out over the whole park.

"Hey Dean..." Sam says, looking out the side of their car.

"Yeah?"

"You're okay with this, right?'

Dean blinks, confused.

"With what?" He asks.

"Being here...I know you don't exactly like theme parks so..."

Dean frowns. Leave it to Sam to worry about how he's feeling when Dean clearly is doing this for him. Then again they're both pretty guilty of that nowadays. Dean's always asking Sam if he's okay with something even when he knows he's not.

"It's all good, Sam." Dean says. Sam doesn't turn and look at him.

"I was just wondering 'cause...well, I don't wanna be a pain..."

"You're always a pain, Sammy." Dean grins. Then, realizing that Sam's being serious, he puts a hand on his kid brother's shoulder and says, "It's fine, Sam. Really. This is kinda a belated birthday treat for you. So have fun and don't worry about me."

Sam nods and Dean sees him smile. They spend the remainder of the ride talking about nothing, joking around and wondering about how pissed Dad's gonna be if he finds out they're out today.

After the Ferris wheel, they go on the ship again. It's not as bad for Dean as it was the first time.

Sam wants to go on a thrill ride after the ship. Dean sighs in resignation and follows his little brother across the wet pavement, secretly wishing he'd brought some gloves with him. They technically aren't supposed to be here. Dad doesn't want them out right now with the case he's on. But Dean's so far from giving a shit what his Dad wants anymore. Sam's birthday was last month and the only thing Dean could do for him was buy him a six pack of cupcakes. Fun times. This was his treat to Sam, and if Dad didn't like it then tough.

The thrill ride is called The Troika, but it might as well have been called The Octopus because of the many arms it has with individual cars at the end of each. He and Sam take separate cars at the end of the same arm. To Dean's relief, this ride has seat belts. He looks back and Sam flashes him a grin and a thumbs up as the ride starts.

At first the central column holding the arms raises the cars off the ground a few feet and Dean feels a little disappointed. Then it starts spinning. And tilting. Dean's hands grip the bar in front of him in a vice like grip as the cars rise and dip at top speed, rocking slightly from the force. Once or twice he nearly hits the branches of a nearby tree.

He feels himself screaming and cursing up a storm and even making threats to the operator as he passes by the line. Behind him he can hear Sam laughing like a maniac. Brat.

The ride stops and Dean feels himself shaking a little, glaring at the ride operator who obviously heard Dean's bellowed oaths. The kid, no older than he is, gives Dean an evil grin that Dean wants to punch off.

"Who wants to go again?" The operator asks. There's a yell of ascent from everyone on the ride, including Sam. Dean's moan is lost among the squeals of excitement and he braces himself for the second turn. Even though he's already experienced the ride, Dean can't help but yell and curse and rant as it goes again. He's pretty sure he snuck a few Latin swear words in there somewhere. He staggers out of his car when it's over, too pissed off to look back at Sam who follows him laughing his head off.

Dean takes a calming breath. At least Sam's having fun. He turns and gives his brother a shaky grin.

"What now?" He asks, trying to stop his knees from knocking together.

Sam's eyes travel to the rollercoaster and his face breaks out into a devilish grin.

"No," Dean says, shaking his head, "No way Samwich."

"It's not even that big!" Sam insists. "And don't call me Samwich."

Dean shakes his head again.

"Fine," Sam says with a dramatic sigh, "I'll just have to tell your girlfriends that you're a big pussy. I wonder if they'll still wanna make out with you after that. Don't know why they wanna make out with you in the first place."

Dean glares at his brother. Damn brat.

"You're on." Dean says dangerously, marching towards the rollercoaster for a ride he knows he's going to regret. Even if it doesn't climb that high, even if the only thrilling thing about it is the two inversions, even if Sammy knows just how to goad him into doing something this stupid, he's still not backing down.

He's singing a different tune by the time they're in the line-up for the rollercoaster. But one glance at Sam's smug face is enough to get him into the seat of the first car and calm enough to let the restraints fall over him.

The ride starts, moving them around a corner and then up the steep incline. Rain sprays into Dean's face and he blinks to stop the water from getting into his eyes.

"If I die," Dean says, "I'm gonna haunt your skinny ass so bad."

Sam may have said something biting in reply, but Dean's not sure because the second they round another corner and plunge down the fifty foot drop, he can't hear anything but the rush of air and his heart beating a mile a minute. He can't help but scream when it comes to the inversions. He feels weightless for two seconds at each one and is pretty sure his eyes are gonna drop out if he opens them.

Thankfully it's over and they're back at the station. He expects the restraints to come off, but one look from Sam tells him that this ride doesn't go around only once.

Fuck.

Like the pirate ship, it's not as bad the second time because Dean knows what to expect. He keeps his eyes open and on Sam as they go around the second time. His brother's eyes are wide open and he's screaming in complete glee. His messy wet hair whips around his face when they go down the incline again and he's having the time of his life. Dean can't help but smile even when he screams again as they go upside down. Sam's having fun. That's what this was all about.

He's a lot more relaxed when they finally get off, even though his legs shake a little and he feels his brains knocking around inside his skull.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Dean nods at Sam. It really wasn't. Then he keels over the nearest garbage bin and promptly hurls. Sam's laughing so hard Dean's pretty sure he'll bust a lung, not that Dean would complain if that happened anymore.

"Let's see how scary the haunted house is." Sam says after Dean catches his breath. Dean rolls his eyes, but is thankful that Sam is giving him a respite from the thrill rides for a while.

"I'm so scared!" Sam says his eyes wide as they take their seat in the front car. Dean chuckles. Sam's milking it for all it's worth.

"Can…can you hold my hand?" Dean asks, joining in the joke. The operator turns and stares at them, clearly thinking they're being serious and totally bewildered. The look on the woman's face just sends them into a fit of laughter as the car slowly lurches forth into darkness.

Ominous music, straight out of a Roger Corman film begins the second they're inside.

"Oh…this is spooo-oo-ky." Sam says in a ghostly waver.

A skeleton jumps out from somewhere to the left of the ride. The people behind them shriek but Dean and Sam laugh like it's a sitcom. Around corner, the decayed "corpse" of an old woman is shown in a glass case full of rats.

"Grandma!" Dean shouts in mock surprise. Sam giggles and pokes him in the rib.

Menacing laughter accompanies the schlocky music. Around another corner, a red devil pops out of the wall at the passengers, who shriek.

"Where's my knife!" Sam cries.

"We need salt!" Dean calls out. They crack up at that, burying their faces in their hands and shaking with laughter. They miss about two of the props and Dean is in time to sit up and stare ahead to feel something on the top of his scalp. He shrieks, loud and genuine. Looking back he sees something dark and spindly dipping up and down from a wire.

"Seriously Dean!" Sam calls out above the music. "It was just a plastic spider!"

"Shut it!" Dean replies hotly. "Or you'll end up like him!" He jerks his thumb at a skeleton sticking out of a cage.

"That's not a prop, Dean," Sam says gravely, "that was a mirror."

Dean swats him up the head but chuckles. He can tell they're nearing the end of the haunted house and pokes Sam in the arm.

"Wanna milk it again?' He asks. Sam grins and sits back in his seat, putting his hands over his eyes and cowering. Dean chuckles and then plasters a look of exaggerated horror on his face and leans closer to Sam just in time for them to leave the darkness of the ride.

People in the line stare at them in surprise and some point and mutter among themselves.

"L-l-lemme help you." Dean says in a voice quavering with fear. He helps Sam out of his seat and has to suppress a grin at the look of terror on his little brother's face.

"Oh man," Sam says with a moan, "that ride was so scary. You really think you're gonna die when the skeleton pops out."

They're walking passed the lineup when Dean throws in one last line for the people now staring at them in bewilderment.

"I…I think I peed a little." Dean says.

"S'okay, man." Sam says. "Me too."

They go off, laughing like idiots at the looks the other guests are giving them. It's raining really hard now.

"Let's go home." Sam says, shielding himself from the downpour.

"You sure?" Dean asks, just to make absolutely sure that Sam isn't doing this just because he thinks Dean isn't having a good time, which he totally is.

Sam nods. "Yeah. I was gonna go on the log flume but I don't think I can get any wetter than I already am."

They're in the Impala in minutes, soaked to the skin and Sam still grinning from ear to ear. Dean lets the car idle for a few minutes so that they don't catch pneumonia from the cold. He glances at Sam and sees him looking out the windshield at the park, his smile softer now, his eyes expressing what he's feeling.

"Have fun?" Dean asks.

Sam nods, still staring out the windshield.

"Yeah. Thanks man."

He's happy.

Dean smiles to himself as he puts the car in reverse. Sam may be a brat, but he was a brat that Dean would do anything for. Even if it meant losing his lunch at a theme park.

**Author's Note: I love this narrative style! It makes it so much easier to get into their headspace. Whaddya think of Dean's ride phobia? It makes**

**sense with his fear of planes. Lemme know what you think so far.**

**sammygirl1963: I dunno if I could do a schmoopy chapter with Daddy Winchester. I'm not a big fan of his. But I shall try!**


	4. Birthday

**Chapter 4: Birthday**

**Ages: Sam (15) Dean (19-20)**

**POV: Sam**

**Rating: T**

**Inspiration: Birthday Cake**

**Author's Note: Thanks to judyann and sammygirl1963 for the reviews. And to ChocolateBlond for the fave. **

I know that I have to do this. It's an impossible, potentially life threatening task that could very well scar me for the rest of my life. All the legions of hell are merely ants compared to the massive burden that has been placed upon my young shoulders, but I won't back down. No. I must do this, no matter how terrifying it is. No matter how many injuries I sustain in the process, I've gotta do this.

Of course, actually getting started would probably help. But as I sit in the little kitchen of the bungalow Dad's been renting since November, I feel myself seize up with apprehension. There are several pots and pans, two boxes of cake mix, a pound of packaged beef and all the fixings for hamburgers sitting out before me. A small tin of vanilla frosting and several small bottles of food coloring, all of which I bought with my own hard earned money. The only thing that I can safely say won't be harmed is the small apple pie I bought from the diner down the street.

It occurs to me that I could probably have just bought everything from the diner, but it wouldn't be the same. I've gotta make it myself, for Dean. I've never made much of a big deal out of his birthdays before now. I mean, I've gotten him whatever presents I could find, but this time I wanna do something special, and making him dinner and a birthday cake seems to be the best thing I can think of. And of course, the little baggie of Frog Gummi's I had to get last night in secret. Dean loves Gummi's.

I've never been much of a chef. Hell, I can't remember the last time I ever actually cooked anything for myself that was more complicated than instant rice. Usually it's a roadside meal for us or else Dean and I are cooking out of a box. But I'm not backing down. I want to do this for Dean, who's been a big damn support system for me since puberty turned me into a moody, angst ridden teenager.

I inhale deeply. Jesus, you'd think I was heading to a gallows or something.

The cake will probably take longer to make, so that's what I go with first. It's Dean's favorite, Devil's Food Cake as ironic as that is. I get the package open and get the contents into a large plastic bowl without too much hassle. This is pretty easy, so far.

The box calls for oil, two eggs and water. The water goes first, and I accidentally get my fingers wet. I think it'll be smooth sailing from here on in when I reach for the bottle of cooking oil, glancing at the recipe again.

Oil. One tsp.

Tsp? What the hell is a tsp?

Shit. The cooking oil bottle is all slippery and before I know what's happening it slips out of my clumsy fingers and spills on the side of the table. I manage to stand it up before it spills too much, but the damage is done and the floor is slippery right near me.

Then comes the eggs. I've never cracked eggs before and...damn it. I don't think the egg shell is supposed to get into the cake mix and I'm not about to stick my finger in there to fish it out. I use the teaspoon and manage to drag the tiny fragment of shell to the edge. Then comes the other egg which I hit too forcefully on the edge of the bowl. The yolk and white drips on my hand and, not thinking clearly, I throw what little I can into the bowl. The last egg doesn't give me such grief, but that's because it takes me about five minutes to pluck up the courage to crack it again.

I pivot to reach the two circular old baking pans and slip on the patch of cooking oil I neglected to clean up. I fall to the floor and land with a painful bump. This is turning into a worse disaster than I thought it would.

After picking my body and dignity off the floor, I pour the goopy chocolate mix into the two pans and end up spilling it over the side of one of the pans. Trying to wipe it off only makes it worse. Sighing, I push the puns into the oven and, lucky me, burn the back of my knuckles on the top of the oven.

I'm hop around the kitchen, sucking on my burnt knuckle and swearing like there's no tomorrow. I should just give up while I'm behind.

No. I wanna do this for Dean.

The hamburgers are next. Dean eats like a pig, so I decide to make around four burgers just in case he's really _really_ hungry. For some reason, the plastic packaging doesn't want to cooperate with me and I give a huge pull, causing the plastic to rip open and dropping a huge chunk of meat on the floor which I side step.

I got a recipe for burgers from the waitress at the diner and I bend down to read the little slip of paper only to see that there's a huge dollop of cake mix covering the bottom half of the paper. Shit. This isn't my day.

Does that say bread crumbs or bead combs? Paprika? I don't have paprika. I barely have pepper!

I guess I'll have to make do with what I've got. The burger is cold to the touch and is really soothing on my knuckle. Before I know what I'm doing, I'm standing at the table with my hand wrist deep in cold dead cow and actually enjoying the feeling.

I snap out of it. This is kinda gross.

Carefully, I mix all the ingredients together. When I say carefully, I really mean that by the end of fifteen minutes I've managed to spill half the bread crumbs on the floor, inhaled the pepper after the top came off the shaker and have crushed another egg in my hand by sheer force. I think I got yolk in my hair. When I brush my bangs out of my eyes, I know for a fact I've got egg in my hair.

The recipe says it would be better to pan fry the burgers, which is why I set the skillet on the stove somewhere between spilling the bread crumbs and crushing the egg. I'm prepared for heat but what I'm not expecting is the grease that spits off the pan when I drop the first patty onto it.

God damn it this hurts! I can feel the scalding drops of grease hit my face and my already injured hand. And when I feel safe enough to drop the next patty into the pan one , I'm met by a new assault of stinging grease. I really should've just got food from the diner.

I go to run my burnt skin under some cold water when, to my complete surprise, flames erupt from the pan. I actually scream and before I know it I grab the pan by the handle, singing my eyebrows in the process and hold the pan under the cold stream of water, putting the fire out but drowning the two burnt patties that by now probably literally have my blood, sweat and tears in them.

I approach the next two patties with the delicacy of a snake wrangler. When the grease doesn't spit out of the pan this time, I breathe a sigh of relief only to realize that I should've taken the cakes out of the oven five minutes ago.

I carefully take the pans out of the oven and, to my relief, the tops aren't burnt. According to the package, they should just slide out due to the grease that I...forgot to spray the bottoms of the pans with. Shit.

Sure enough, the two cakes are pretty much burnt to the bottom of the tin. Dean's favorite kind of cake ruined. I drop to the floor of the kitchen, letting the pans fall beside me with a clatter and being to cry like a bitch.

All I wanted to do was make a nice birthday dinner for my brother, who is probably going to be home in less than thirty minutes. Why can't the universe give me a break? It's just basic cooking. I should be able to at least do this without unleashing a reign of apocalyptic hell. Most fifteen year olds know how to cook. And I don't because I've lived my life on the road.

Anger replaces my sadness now and I get to my feet, flipping the patties and not giving a crap when the grease spits at my face again. The cakes are a no go. I'm going to have to find something else to replace them. After gouging them out of the pans and throwing them in the trash, I remember the pie. Dean does love pie more than cake. I've gotten the pie out of the fridge when I remember that I have to flip the patties. They're crispy burnt on the bottoms and I grit my teeth angrily when I take them off the stove and put them aside. This is a complete disaster.

It's around six by now and dark. Dean's probably going to be home at six thirty.. I decide to decorate the top of the pie like a cake after I heat it up and let it cool. My hands are shaking when I spread the vanilla frosting on the surface of the pie. I puncture the crust a few times which only adds to my wrath and impending sense of disappointment.

The waitress told me that I could use a plastic bag that had been snipped at the bottom corner as an icing tube to write a message on the cake...well, pie by this time. I can't find the scissors so I take my knife and cut through the bottom of a Ziploc bag and accidentally poke my finger with the knife. This is getting dangerous. Hastily I wrap my finger in a dish towel and mix together the remaining vanilla frosting with some blue food coloring.

It's kinda hard to write "HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAN" on the surface of a pie when your finger is wrapped in a bulky towel and your head is filled with little voices of doubt. But I'm this close. I'm not giving up now. Even if the end result of message looks more like "HOPPY BATHDAY DAN" than what I wanted. All that's left is the candles. I got two of those big number candles from the dollar store since by this point I'd probably start an inferno with twenty of the small ones. The big two and zero actually don't destroy the already sad little pie-cake that I've managed to make.

All that's left is too make the hamburgers. Dean likes ketchup, mustard, lettuce, tomatoes, cheese and red onion on his. I'm surprised that I didn't cut my fingers off when I slice the tomatoes and onions. Then, 'cause Dean likes melted cheese on his burgers, I heat them up in the microwave and take them out, noticing that the lettuce is now wilted.

I've got about ten minutes left. I pile all the dishes in the sink and drop to my knees and use the dish towel around my hand to mop up the oil, burger and cake mix littering the floor. I slip on the oil once more and get a face full of the stuff which I wipe on my t-shirt. After scrubbing for a few minutes, I hear the Impala coming down the street. Shit! He's home!

Hastily, I throw the dish towel onto the counter, stuff all the remaining ingredients in the trash 'cause there's no way in hell that I'm doing this again and manage to arrange the pie and burger and little bag of Gummi's on the table. Dean's at the door, and I throw the lights off and manage to light the candles and sit down by when he opens the door.

"The hell?" I hear him mutter from the front hall. The light in the hallway goes on and he thumps into the kitchen, and stops dead in the doorway, staring at me with his eyes wide and mouth slightly open.

I must look really dumb. Bread crumbs and cake mix and cooking oil and hamburger all over my clothes and hands. My hair is probably sticking up because of the egg and I probably don't look very sane right now.

But I manage a small, "Happy Birthday Dean," and smile at him, feeling like a complete shit. I ruined his birthday dinner because I'm so damn incompetent. I expect him to scoff and say I should've ordered out instead of making a complete mess of the food.

"Sammy...thank you so much, man!"

Okay, I wasn't expecting that. Damn, he sounds really happy. Like he's gonna cry. Before I know what's happening, he's by my chair and pulling me into a tight hug. I'm still a little stunned at the moment that he didn't freak out, but soon my senses catch up and I smile into his shoulder. He likes it. He really really likes it!

"I uh...the cake didn't turn out so I had to use the pie..." I say when he finally lets go and looks at the little meal before him like it's something from the Hilton.

"It's fucking awesome, Sam!" He says cheerfully. "This that pie from the diner?"

I nod. "The wax if melting." I hint.

He grins and takes a deep breath before blowing out both of the candles. There's darkness for a second before he turns the light on. He's grinning at me like this is the nicest thing he's ever gotten from anybody and that makes me feel warm all over.

"What'd you wish for?" I tease, knowing he's not gonna tell me.

But he surprises me again.

"More times like this, Sammy." He says, his eyes bright as he looks at the little package of Gummi's I got him. Suddenly I get it. This isn't about how damn good the food is for him. He's just happy that I did this.

And, as we sit there and talk over Dean's dinner and share the pie til it's all gone, I realize I'm happy I did it too. My skin might be grease burnt, my clothes might smell like raw hamburger but I can't help but think that I'd do it all over again if it meant I could see Dean this happy again.

Guess it was a happy birthday for him after all.

**Author's Note: This took longer than usual to get out. I've had some stuff to deal with this week. And I know it's shorter than the others but after reading The Road Goes Ever On by thehighwaywoman and The Lost Son by cindy123 I've realized that quantity isn't always quality, although I'm trying to write at least three thousand words for the things I write lately. Let me know what you think so far.**


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